


A Man's Downfall

by Banana_daiquiri



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, Nudity, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banana_daiquiri/pseuds/Banana_daiquiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rose must go undercover as a stripper to stop a shady politician, per the Doctor's brilliant plan.  Needless to say, this plan backfires on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This had backfired in all sorts of horribly embarrassing ways.

Not that it hadn't already been an awkward situation rife with possibilities for humiliation on Rose's part. But this was a whole other thing. 

She had been bowled-over by how nonchalantly the Doctor had suggested it. It was logical, he'd said, and he understood that she might feel a little put-off by the idea, but she wouldn't really be acting as herself. 

"We pretend to be people we aren't all the time," he'd said with a blase shrug.

Rose had scowled. "Easy for you to say. You aren't the one who needs to get half-naked for this."

"Ah," he'd grinned, lifting a finger. "But don't assume I never _have_ before."

She'd tried very hard not to think about that, or to ask any follow-up questions. 

They were on Nilpas Ranza. They had been tracking a corrupt politician named Zoril, who, the Doctor assured Rose, was about to be responsible for the deaths of thousands of people if he wasn't stopped. Rose had felt uneasy throughout this entire mission. She trusted the Doctor, of course, trusted him completely, but this was still very risky and involved her slipping something into the man's drink that may or may not kill him if mixed with the wrong thing...and the goal was not to kill him, but to waylay him. The plan was for him to end up in hospital at just the right moment, allowing a colleague of his to uncover documents that Zoril had always guarded closely in the original timeline. They had almost been seen, once, but Zoril had intervened at the crucial moment and no one had been any the wiser until it was too late. This time, the Doctor swore, they would leave that window of time wide open and the documents would be found. 

The problem with the Doctor's plan was that surveillance around Zoril was so tight at all times that no one could get remotely close to him--not even the Doctor. So they had begun to watch Zoril's routine closely, day after day, for any sign of vulnerability.

"At some point he'll be left alone, or a bit too relaxed...it's only a matter of time," the Doctor reassured Rose during one particularly long stakeout. Hours had passed and they'd had nothing but a small bag of pretzels to share, and yet Rose's bladder was still dangerously close to bursting. The Doctor, becoming aware of her discomfort, had felt horrible telling her that she could not, in fact, leave the car they'd rented. She'd surely be spotted. So he did his best to distract and comfort her by paring away at her doubt that they could pull this off successfully.

And then, wouldn't you know it, they'd followed Zoril to the one place it would turn out he was vulnerable: a gentlemen's club.

The Doctor had slipped off to follow him inside, and when he returned more than an hour later he looked thoughtful and just a little triumphant. By then Rose had ducked into a neighboring diner to relieve her bladder, so she was feeling triumphant herself. Now that she was relaxed she decided to poke fun at the Doctor a bit.

"Have a nice time?" she asked with a wink.

"Hmm?" he looked vaguely confused. 

Rose hesitated when it came to elaborating, not sure how exactly she could broach the subject of the mostly-naked women who had surely been on display in the club. She blushed brightly, her teasing backfiring neatly. What she couldn't put into words the Doctor apparently read in her blush. He might be repressed, or downright asexual for all she knew, but that didn't mean he was as clueless as he seemed when it came to these matters. 

She learned this the hard way when he said, quickly and dismissively (and, she was certain, with some degree of irritation at her juvenile insinuation), "That doesn't affect me, Rose. But I know now how we can pull this off."

So that was how Rose found herself applying for a job at the Bad Wolf gentlemen's club. As she was looked over (and actually poked and prodded), Rose swore viciously to herself that she was going to find some way to pay the Doctor back for this.

She hadn't quite planned on making him eat his own words, however.

***

The Doctor was a little too celebratory when Rose was hired, wrapping her up in a victory hug and spinning her around, leaving her dizzy. "I knew you could do it!" he chirped. "You _are_ quite attractive. And rather flexible--do you remember the laser tripwire alarm in Bangladesh? Like a snake, you were." His eyes hazed a bit as he remembered, cocking his head.

Rose just blinked at him, hardly able to believe his lack of a filter. Was he really thinking about--? No. Forget about it. Of course he wasn't. "Uh, yeah," she said. "I guess."

"Anyway, here's how it's going to go down," he rushed on excitedly, and began to break down his plan for her.

***

The plan was simple: the Doctor would hang out in the club, pretending to be just another member (the psychic paper made that easy enough), drinking and chatting and whatnot, (whatnot, Rose figured, probably consisted of leering at the women like every other man there, though in his case it would be for show) and keeping an eye on Zoril. Zoril, the Doctor had twice observed, tended to knock back six or seven drinks over the course of the night. By the time he left he was sure to be staggering a bit and to have had at least two lap dances.

"That's where you come in," the Doctor needlessly elucidated. Rose had already figured this much out the moment he'd suggested she apply for a job. She wondered, briefly, if the Doctor figured she just did whatever he said without question. Maybe he never considered that she didn't question because she was smart enough to anticipate his next move, something he probably figured no one could do. Interesting question, that. And she wasn't sure if she should be impressed or insulted by how easy it was for him to pose this scenario to her.

Zoril had certain tells when it came to his levels of inebriation, the Doctor had observed. They were subtle but they were there. He would easily be able to tell when the politician was so far gone that it would be a simple matter to slip something into his drink undetected, if it was done in just the right way. At this point he would move in and give Zoril the whole, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" bit. Once they'd established a rapport and he was buttering the man up by gushing over his accomplishments, he'd buy him yet another drink, and at some juncture, a lap dance from Rose.

Rose swallowed when the Doctor got to this bit. Seriously? The Doctor himself was going to pay for her to give some other guy a lap dance? Okay, maybe _that_ part she hadn't foreseen.

What she asked was, "How do you know he'll warm up to you?"

"Because I'm charming," the Doctor said easily. "Very non-threatening. Piece of cake."

Rose couldn't help but smile at his cocksure attitude. The Doctor was the only man she'd ever known who could be so conceited and arrogant without being the least bit offensive.

"Ready?" he asked, all intensity and grim determination now. He was hardly looking at her, but instead staring off at the club as though visualizing how it would all play out. Nowhere in that brain, Rose was certain, was he registering exactly how naked she was about to be. How very naked and faking arousal for the man sitting right next to him.

"I don't understand why _you_ can't just slip something into his drink," she said uncomfortably. But she sort of did--drinks weren't ever handled by any patron other than the one being served, after all. Everything was brought right to the tables.

"I may well do. But it's unlikely I'll get the opportunity...Zoril always has eyes on him. His bodyguards are more distracted than usual when they're here, but even if Zoril leaves the table to use the facilities I doubt I'll be able to get close enough to his drink. I'd surely be spotted. I'll signal you if I do manage it though, and we can just call the whole thing off."

 _Here's hoping,_ she thought. She sighed. "I'm ready." Then she thought of something. "Wait, Doctor...how long does this stuff take to kick in? Is it gonna be dangerous, us getting out of here?"

He shook his head. "It'll take a couple of hours to take effect. He'll be home by then and someone will find him later and bring him to the hospital. He has a maid. It'll only be a matter of time, but by then we'll be lying low to see how it all pans out."

***

To a point, it all went down exactly the way the Doctor had planned. Rose had to dance several numbers on the stage over the course of the evening, and tried not to think that the Doctor might be watching her swing from a pole. The idea was nothing short of mortifying. Every time she glanced over at him, however, he was looking elsewhere.

She tried her best to move as though she wasn't the least bit self-conscious, and managed to keep every element of her very skimpy, glittery costume on her body. She knew it was only a matter of time, however. The other girls would only serve as a distraction from her for so long, and then she'd be forced to play the part. _It's just acting. Like the Doctor said...we do it all the time,_ Rose thought. She'd just have to cling to that idea.

She was very aware of it when the Doctor finally situated himself next to Zoril and struck up drunken conversation with him. He'd had more than a few drinks of his own, she thought with some amusement. Just as well. Maybe he'd drink enough to forget he ever saw her like this. She'd give her left arm for a drink right now (or maybe not, as she was currently using said arm to swing around the pole).

At least she was growing more used to her fuck-me heels. The shoes they made their girls wear here should be outlawed. These ones were a gorgeous color at least, though--fuchsia, like her skimpy costume. She decided to give up a moment and stop balancing on them--she suspected her moment was drawing near anyway. She went to the edge of the stage and knelt on slightly-spread knees. She moved her right arm over her head as though swinging an invisible lasso, throwing her head back and letting her hips swivel a bit. As the maneuver came to an end and she straightened up on her knees she caught the Doctor blatantly staring at her. He looked shocked, no two ways about it. 

Rose tried very hard not to smile. Maybe this could be fun after all--something they could laugh about later.

The Doctor blinked hard several times as Zoril elbowed his side, very buddy-buddy. The man was gesturing with his drink and grinning in a way that suggested he wasn't discussing the weather as he pointed at Rose. He made a remark that was apparently so off-color it caused the Doctor to choke on his own drink. Rose was alarmed at how hard he was coughing, but had no choice but to take her eyes off him as she leaned forward so far her forehead almost touched the stage, sweeping her arms out in front of her. The move ended with her lifting forward on her arms, hips bumping the stage once, then she rolled her hips around so she was on her side. In an elegant transition she grasped the pole and rose fluidly, curling a leg around the metal and swinging around. 

They had a routine. They had to follow it. Rose had spent the last week learning it after hours at the club along with three other girls. And it was hard enough doing it with just them and their instructor in the room.

Keeping her eyes off the audience (which was against the rules, actually, but if she got fired tonight it wouldn't matter anyway) Rose began her strip dance routine: right hand reaching to the side and up, left hand running down it and over the side of her neck, right hip thrown out. Her left hand continued its downward slide, ran between her breasts, and she bent, whipping her head around so her hair flared as she reached down with her right hand and rested her fingertips on the floor. Her left hand came sweeping back up her right arm and as it did, she stood and turned so she was in profile to the audience. Her arms came back up above her head again and she turned her head to stare out above the faces of the people watching. Her arms came down and brushed over the back of her neck. It looked like she was sliding them under the fall of her hair, pushing her chest out, but really she was deftly untying the string of her top. She turned again to face the audience fully, and one hand brushed subtly over her back, pulling at the tie there. Her top was now loose in her hand. She let it fall to the stage, then kicked it over the edge as if to say she was glad to be rid of it. A couple of guys in the audience whistled saucily.

She was entirely too unclothed.

She half expected to look down into the audience to find the Doctor shielding his eyes with his hands (or maybe writhing on the ground having a coronary event), but unfortunately, she _had_ to look down, or she wouldn't know if he was signaling her.

When she did look, her eyes fell first on Zoril, who was waving a bill at her. She utilized a stripper-strut forward toward him, and her eyes fell on the Doctor as she sank down to her knees, once again parting them as she pushed her hips out a bit, offering the band of her thong to Zoril so he could tuck the bill in. The bill wasn't actually worth anything; these bills were purchased for exactly this showy purpose. Zoril came forward and used his nasty fingers to tuck the bill into place, and it was everything she could do not to grimace.

The Doctor was still watching her, eyes fixed resolutely on her face, looking frankly ill. The reality of this was hitting him now, Rose knew, and she tried to apologize with her eyes--there had been no way she could possibly tell him what this was going to be like beforehand. He never would have understood. He was always running full-force-ahead, giddy with ideas, resolute with planning, prepared for snafus of all kinds--but not for his companion's naked chest practically being thrust into a stranger's face right in front of him. 

She glanced at the bill Zoril had tucked into her band; lap-dance money. She'd just been temporarily bought--this was the moment. Rose tried to find comfort in the knowledge that Zoril had just paid for his own downfall.

Rose made an elegant maneuver down from the stage and approached Zoril, who had settled back expectantly in his chair. He was an unappealing man in every way and this would be difficult: his face was red from drinking and he was slightly sweaty. He had a strangely unkempt air about him even though he was wearing a suit. 

Rose needn't have worried about the difficulty before her, as it turned out; as she drew close, Zoril shook his head, grinning widely, and pointed to his new "friend."

Rose stopped dead in her tracks, looking uncertainly back and forth between them. The Doctor was gaping at Zoril like a fish, but by the time the man turned his head to see the reaction to his unexpected "gift," the Doctor's mask was firmly fixed in place and he was pretending to go along with it. He grinned, then returned his gaze to Rose and _winked at her._

Rose felt her heart thud heavily in her chest, just once, as though it was considering just giving up right then. Maybe _she_ would have the coronary event. Had that wink been for Zoril's benefit, or hers? 

The Doctor raised one eyebrow with amusement and patted his knee as though impatient. Despite this, any ideas Rose had held about maybe being able to laugh this off later flew right out the flipping widow. Zoril chuckled heartily and made some remark. All Rose could make out were the words, "inexperienced," and "virgin," and knew that Zoril was making fun of her apparent hesitation.

Rose tilted her chin up, swallowed down her fear, and strode quickly toward the Doctor. This was important: people's lives depended on it. 

Wait--people's lives depended on whether or not she gave the Doctor an impromptu lap dance? This was _ten kinds_ of fucked up.

Her own face a mask now, Rose placed her hands resolutely on the Doctor's shoulders and thrust her arse back but her breasts forward toward his face, the way she'd been taught. He wasn't supposed to touch her (and no doubt he wouldn't--his shoulders were so tense under her hands that he felt like stone), but she was supposed to tease him enough to leave him wanting and, therefore, the money flowing.

Slowly she brought her hands forward and settled them on his knees, coaxing him to spread his legs. She could have sworn she actually heard him swallow as he obeyed. Rose twisted slowly back and forth in the space he'd made, bending her knees as she did so, lowering herself, finally turning so her arse was inserted in the space he'd made. She was burning on the inside with an embarrassment so hot she thought she might literally spontaneously combust. She swiveled her hips again, side to side, still braced with her hands on his knees. She wondered what his face looked like at that moment, then decided she'd really rather not know. She was probably about to find out, though. 

Mentally bracing herself, she turned and swung one leg around so she could lower herself into his lap.

The Doctor held his hands out to his sides, obviously panicking, not sure where to put them but knowing there was no way he was putting them anywhere near her. Rose felt sorry for him, to be honest, but Zoril was yukking it up beside them, obviously thrilled by this little transaction.

Rose knew she couldn't exactly shut her eyes during the act or Zoril might complain, or possibly she'd give herself away somehow. She couldn't afford to raise any suspicions, and even drunk Zoril surely knew the difference between an experienced dancer and a hesitant newbie. So she circled her arms around the Doctor's neck and fixed her gaze on his lips as she worked against him with a slow grind, trying to ignore how pleasant the friction of his trousers felt, his zipper between her legs. 

Resolutely she met his stare, and found that his eyes were pleading. Maybe begging forgiveness. He subtly flicked his eyes Zoril's way to indicate that he was aware they were being watched and had a part to act himself. Then his confident grin reasserted itself, the one he'd given her when he'd winked at her. He lowered his hands, finally, and grasped the back legs of his chair, apparently having decided that was their safest placement.

Rose rocked her hips side to side and then in a slow counter-clockwise movement, and the Doctor's grin faltered. It was subtle, but Rose couldn't help but notice it, as close to his face as she was. She sighed, embarrassed and frustrated. She knew no one could hear that, at least, not over the music. She let her hair fall over her face to hide her expression.

It was time. Rose slid her hips forward in the Doctor's lap (and could have sworn she felt him rock forward ever-so-slightly in response, a notion she immediately dismissed...and even if he had it was surely his gentlmen's-club-persona) and leaned back a bit, grinning coyly at Zoril over her shoulder. She held her hand out and wiggled her fingers, eying his drink meaningfully. 

Zoril grinned like a dirty bastard, aware she was about to pull some trick (and she was, but not the kind he thought), and handed his drink over to her. Easy-peasy. Just like that. She was an employee of the club; it was considered safe for her to handle his beverage.

Rose had a fancy, flesh-colored capsule affixed to her index finger. It was very small, but she'd placed it there just before her shift. The Doctor had assured her it wouldn't melt with her body heat; it required an alcoholic beverage. 

Rose lifted the drink up in front of her and swirled her middle finger in the whiskey-colored drink, her eyes never leaving the Doctor's face. As she moved to draw her hand out of the glass she subtly dipped her index finger in, and the capsule fell off and dissolved, as promised.

Rose removed her hand from the beverage and touched her clavicle, letting the untainted drop of liquor slide across her skin, between her breasts. 

Now it was her turn to quirk an eyebrow. "No hands," she told the Doctor.

This time, rather than hearing him swallow, she watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. It was subtle, but to hide it he quickly leaned forward toward her. She thrust her chest out and felt his tongue trace over her skin, collecting the liquor.

Rose felt a new sort of heat bloom through her, surging down her chest and settling between her legs. She shivered ever so slightly, mentally cursing herself.

The Doctor pulled back a little, but not all the way. She felt him hesitate, felt his breath on her skin. She suddenly realized that he wasn't straightening for a reason, and the heat between her legs grew almost unbearable. Despite the fact that they were being watched--and who they were being watched by--the Doctor had a slight problem. And he was trying to keep this problem from becoming more evident by leaning forward rather than back, obviously hoping Rose would fail to notice. Even over the noise around them she heard him draw a slow breath, knew he was fighting with himself.

Rose returned the drink to Zoril's hand and he grinned lecherously at her and took a swig. Rose smiled sweetly at him. _I wish it was poison, bloody wanker,_ she thought, and then pressed against the Doctor's chest with her right hand. 

He was forced to sit up. The look in his eyes was a bit resigned, a little upset. Rose gave him a soft, reassuring smile, and he echoed it. She stood and turned so she was facing away from him again, and completed her last maneuver: she placed her backside against him and ground lightly against him, heard him hiss in a breath--not with arousal she knew, but fear, since even if she'd failed to notice his predicament earlier she couldn't possibly fail to now. _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry,_ she thought desperately. _Just following orders._

Finally she pulled away, sauntering back to her place on the stage to a round of applause. As she resumed her place at the pole she spared the Doctor one last glance and saw that he was still clapping lightly, but had one ear turned toward Zoril, who obviously had more wisdom to share. The Doctor grinned and laughed, genuinely looking amused.

He could be a great actor when he wanted to be. But some things couldn't be faked. Like that hardness pressing against her bum just now.

Rose finished her dance routine, thankfully without any more lap dance requests. She was still burning with a strange combination of embarrassment and arousal, felt herself clench inside involuntarily at one point remembering the Doctor's tongue tracing her skin, his reluctance to sit back afterward. She'd never seen him give the slightest indication, before, that he had any interest in sex.

His body had just told her another story, however.

_To Be Continued...._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor's fairly explosive reaction to the events in the gentlemen's club.
> 
> NSFW. Definitely NSFW.
> 
> Story is finished.

***

It had gone all wrong.

Before he'd even had the chance to suggest he would buy a lap dance from the lovely lady for Zoril, Zoril was getting up to put the bill in Rose's thong. The Doctor bit the inside of his cheek when the sleazy politician tucked the dirty slip against her skin. He bit hard enough to taste blood.

The worst part was that Rose was half naked. The Doctor had watched Zoril a couple different times in this place in preparation for tonight, and had seen the girls dancing already, but they had been background noise. Somehow, stupidly, he'd forgotten just how...naked they were. It hadn't mattered.

It mattered now.

Mattered quite a bit to his biology, too, as it turned out.

He would have been better off if she hadn't taken her top off, but even then he was relatively okay. Just feeling a bit sick. And a touch angry. Not angry at her, but at all the eyes on her. She was only doing what he had--stupidly--asked her to do.

And that made him feel horrible. Just _look_ what she would do for him, without complaint. How could he put her through that? Had he really casually discussed purchasing her for someone else, like a piece of meat, as though it was of no consequence? What had he been thinking?

The answer was that he'd been pushing his feelings away for so long, burying them so deep, that somewhere along the line he'd convinced himself that the feelings did not exist. Maybe never had. And that it was a given that everyone would do everything he asked them to without question...his companions especially, as if they hadn't given up enough by leaving their homes, perhaps never to return. As he could not.

And now every maneuver she made on the stage cracked the facade he'd built until he felt completely exposed. He did his best to remain placid on the outside. He laughed with Zoril, kissed the man's arse, played along.

And then that moment when Rose did her gyrations on the edge of the stage, right before Zoril tucked the bill in her band. Dear. Lord. 

Then he felt even worse, but for entirely different reasons.

Pure dread struck him forcefully when Zoril laughed and pointed to him to indicate where Rose should turn her attentions. He quickly fell back on what he was best at: false bravado. He winked at her and patted his knee, so casual, already knowing he might be in trouble.

She did well at hiding her reservation--at what was no doubt her outright horror faced with this prospect--but he knew her well enough to sense her discomfort. She was feeling it on his behalf. She knew he was never receptive to this sort of thing. 

And then she put her hands on his knees, turned, and did that slow, twisting dip. His eyes followed the swing of her hips. He felt he'd never been as focused on anything as he was on her low back. He told himself he was only playing the part, only noticing because he was expected to. But then she turned around and sat in his lap--

and oh lord the heat the friction the way she rocked her hips and he could smell her pheromones and this close touching her skin he could sense something nothing clear but something and then the whiskey dripping and "No hands" she said and that wasn't part of the script and what did she mean by that and he had to go along play along to get along and almost instantly his tongue was on her skin and what had been coming through was clearer like a low-wave radio frequency broadcasting the slightest hint of arousal and he grasped the chair and her belly flexed and her hips slid

\--and he felt himself begin to react against his will, just the way a stupid bloke who wasn't a 900-something-year-old alien would do. Exactly the way a Time Lord should never react. Wasn't meant to react. 

Well, except that he wanked somewhat regularly these days, probably once a week, which was about as long as he felt he could hold off--a dirty secret he wouldn't have admitted even if threatened with torture and death--but no one had to know that but him. And no one had to know, certainly, that it was always Rose he thought of in those moments, always her name on the tip of his tongue when he trembled at the end of it, fighting to stay silent. And surely with all that nonsense taking place, all he was doing to keep himself physically in check (and that was just for him; he was in no danger of breaking and doing anything out of character, he told himself) surely this could _not_ be happening right now. What was he, an animal?

So he stilled, praying she didn't notice, praying she wouldn't feel it, willing himself to get control. He really didn't want to face up to this later on and he could only do that if his bloody erection ceased to exist as of seven point zero two six seconds ago.

But Rose thwarted him by pushing him back into the chair. She didn't do it to be cruel, he knew; she was being stagey, performing the way that was expected of her. Performing the way he'd insisted she perform...though he'd never expected it to be on him.

And what would he have felt if she'd pulled this whole act on the greasy sod next to him instead? He felt misery sweep through him then, and humiliation. He didn't _want_ to be glad she was in his lap. Besides, she wasn't, technically--this was an act. 

Except that arousal he'd sensed, that was. 

She seemed to sense his distress. She smiled softly at him and he couldn't help but return it. Still, when she climbed off his lap he felt like heaving a sigh of relief. But then, she turned around. And pressed back into him. And _rubbed._

He hardened painfully then, doing everything he could to keep his hands clasped on the chair legs. He wasn't certain what he might do with them otherwise.

Then she straightened and sauntered away, taking his dignity with him, along with all of his pretenses.

Great. Zoril wouldn't be the only man brought down by this mission. The Doctor was fairly certain he could pinpoint this moment as the death of his peace of mind, because he didn't know how he was going to get this elephant out of the room when he was alone with Rose again.

Brilliant.

Oh, great, she was back up on the stage dancing again now. Brilliant.

***

He was out back waiting for her when she emerged from her shift, having collected her earnings and endured a lecture on her technique. It had been all she could do to keep herself from laughing hysterically as she received pointers on how to be a better stripper in the future.

All her mirth evaporated, however, when she realized that she was lucky: she could walk out of here, didn't have to stay and do this. Some of these girls would endure this for a long, long time, being groped by men like Zoril every night. They were paid damn well, granted (she would have drooled over the idea of earning this much back when she was a shop girl), but still.

That was her frame of mind as she hesitated momentarily outside the club after the door had shut behind her. The only close street light was behind the Doctor and the TARDIS, and so all she could see was his silhouette as he leaned against the box.

"Did it work?" she asked after a moment, when he said nothing.

"Yes," he said. She could hear slight a smile in his voice, and so she returned it as she went to him, her trainers making gritty sounds against the slightly damp pavement. It had been raining earlier. As she got close enough to make out his features she could see the light glinting off little drops of water in his hair.

"I'm sorry I took so long," she said. "You didn't have to wait out here for me. Why didn't you go in?" She raised her hand up to comb her fingers through his fringe, brushing the rain away.

He didn't reply, but caught her wrist suddenly. She sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

He looked at her and brought her wrist to his lips, kissed it softly.

She giggled, a little uncomfortable. He was being really weird. "What was that for?"

"Just testing." His voice was so quiet.

"Testing for what?" She grinned widely. It was just the Doctor being strange, like he always was.

But then he pressed his lips into the center of her palm. "To see if you're still aroused."

Rose felt that flash of heat again, and she swallowed with some difficulty. "What?"

He pressed her fingers together and kissed the undersides. His eyes fell shut as he did it, and then he held her hand so that her fingers rested against his lips, and he spoke through them, his breath warm in the cool air. "I could taste it. If I'm wrong, just tell me, but...I don't think I am."

Her mouth was slightly ajar at this point, and she felt incapable of closing it. She stood staring at him, saying nothing, and finally his eyes opened. He held her gaze and moved her hand downward, pulling her in closer toward him, and he pressed the flat of her palm against the front of his trousers.

Some small sound escaped her, but she wasn't certain what to call it. It was sort of a catch in her breath, partly a squeak.

He leaned in toward her, resting his forehead against hers. "I know you already felt this," he said. 

If this had been some other man, Rose would have likely been angry with his timing, or felt insulted somehow, but everything was always more with the Doctor. There was never anything casual, nothing uncalculated about him. He'd been pushed to some point, and now he was asking her if she wanted to fall over it with him.

She squeezed him softly, feeling herself grow embarrassingly damp. 

The Doctor made a sound deep in his throat, something like a moan, and it was somehow a broken sound, and she had nothing to be embarrassed about because he was further gone than she was. He fumbled with the door behind him and managed to stumble back inside, pulling her with him, pulling her up against him so urgently that any awkwardness of her movements was a given and secondary to his goals and he didn't seem to care, and she was actually standing on his trainers because he'd practically placed her there, and then he was kissing her with single-minded purpose. This wasn't the sort of kiss that said "Hey, I like you," or "Good night." She knew immediately where he was headed with it, and even if she hadn't she _would_ have understood when, a few moments later, he began pulling at her clothing.

Though she wanted more than anything just to enjoy the ride, Rose felt she had to ask. Reluctantly she extracted herself from the kiss. "Doctor, are you o--"

That was as far as she got. He didn't want to talk. Her jeans were being unbuttoned and unzipped, his hands sliding over her stomach, over her low back, down into her knickers, and he was touching her arse with very deliberate hands. 

Rose was so distracted by all the sensations--his hands on her, his lips on hers, his tongue stroking into her mouth, that she forgot to return in kind. He seemed to suddenly realize this. He slid his hands back out of her jeans and impatiently undid his own trousers, taking her hand again to slide it into his briefs, and then she was touching him, really touching him the way she'd only done in dreams and fantasies, and he was so hard and very slick, and she suddenly felt that her knees were going to give out, but he caught her, caught her even as she managed to find a rhythm to stroke him with.

They hadn't made it away from the door, and his head fell back against it, his eyes closed. "Oh," he breathed, repeating a variation of the exclamation with each downward stroke of her hand. "Yes, Rose, that's good, keep going...." 

She watched him with no small degree of amazement, her insides turning to liquid fire. 

He let her go on like that for a minute and then disrupted her rhythm by pushing her gently off his trainers and dropping to his knees to pull her jeans and knickers down.

It had been agony for her when, earlier on stage, she'd had to take her top off knowing that the Doctor was in the audience. She had known then that it would have been easier to do it for a room full of pure strangers. But now, alone with him, seeing this sudden raw and desperate need, she felt no insecurity, no hesitation. She didn't shy away from his exploration. 

He paused in front of her, looking at her, then turned his eyes up to hers as he placed a kiss on her belly.

She trembled, a knee-knocking tremble, and it told him all he needed to know.

He slid his hands down, used his thumbs to part her slick labia, and set about licking her as though she was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

Her hands fell into his hair, having nowhere else to go, and she clutched at him, making helpless, blind sounds of pleasure. 

She had no idea what had brought this on, but all she wanted was more. After all the time they'd spent together talking and planning, somehow tonight they were well beyond all that. This was all about need.

The Doctor finally slowed to a stop, not wanting to pull away but sensing that Rose couldn't hold her position much longer. He paused what they were doing long enough to first help her out of her shoes and then to untie his, never speaking a word. He made short work, with her help, of the rest of their clothing, and then he pulled her with him up the ramp toward the console.

It was very dark in the TARDIS, only a faint green light emanating from the time rotor to see by. But it was enough for Rose to observe that what seemed so sudden on the Doctor's part had been planned out, at least enough that while she'd been wrapping up her affairs in the club he had brought out a big pile of blankets and pillows to spread across the grating. A little presumptuous of him...and she found that she was incredibly turned on by that.

She felt dizzy as his hands, suddenly tender, coaxed her to lie down on the makeshift nest he'd created. She sank down and he wasn't far behind. He leaned over her and pulled one of her legs up his chest so that her ankle rested on his shoulder, and he gazed into her eyes and nuzzled her calf as he slid first one finger into her, then two, and began to fuck her deliberately with them.

She cried out almost immediately, overwhelmed on so many levels. God, he was so passionate, she hadn't known he could be like this...well, she _had_ , but about machines and devices and history and science. She'd had no idea he was capable of _this_.

"Doctor," she mewled helplessly as he tilted his head and focused an intense gaze on her, his eyes darkening as he bit his bottom lip and increased the pace of his fingers. Any censorship Rose might have once tried to maintain, or had thought she would maintain if this moment ever occurred, shattered. "Yes yes yes," she encouraged, her eyes skating over his body, over his delicately muscled chest, his erect cock pressed between her open legs but not where she needed it, his one hand firmly gripping her leg and holding it in place, his other hand between her legs working her into a frenzy.

"Come on," he whispered furiously, keeping his eyes on hers as he turned his head enough to kiss her leg. "You're close, Rose, so close, aren't you...."

She was nodding, unable to speak, and he mimicked the nod and stroked his thumb over her clit just right and with just enough pressure and she was pretty sure she screamed.

He kept going, but slower as she crested and spasmed and twitched helplessly, and then he was running his hand over her stomach and chest, so soothing, and he was coming down to lie beside her and slightly over her, letting his fingertips drift across her hairline as he pulled her apart from the inside out with a leisurely but intimate kiss that somehow still held all the urgency that his fingers inside her had.

Rose turned so she could press her body more fully against his, her arm coming up to circle his neck. He smelled so good, like the rain and a little of sandalwood, and he was sweating very lightly and even just his skin smelled so nice that Rose wondered how she'd never just buried her face in his neck before as she was doing now, licking and kissing and tasting. He was delicious. 

She felt him bury his nose in her hair as she worked her hand down between them and began to stroke him again, every now and then slipping her hand down further to caress his testicles, and he seemed to like that because he began to breathe a little faster, moving his hips restlessly. He only put up with this for so long before he rolled on top of her and pinned her down, nudging against her entrance with the head of his cock, teasing, nudging again and again, watching the desire flicker across her face. It was torture for both of them and finally he pressed forward harder and they both felt the resistance give. He paused a moment and slid his hands beneath her shoulders to grasp her for leverage. His hands tightened on her and he sank into her hard and fast, and her hips bucked and she cried out and paused just as he did, each stopping to take a long breath as she clenched around him and he twitched in response.

"Say it," he whispered, and, floating on the haze of a rush of endorphins, Rose found that it would be easy enough to do just that.

Still, she hesitated, and let him pull back and slide into her again just as powerfully, and he repeated his request, a slightly more desperate edge to his voice this time. "Say it."

She tightened her legs around his narrow waist, wishing this would never end. Her hands slid over his shoulders and then she pulled them forward again, scratching him just hard enough as she did so that she coaxed a groan from him. She slid her hands over his chest, both tenderly and needily, and waited for him to focus on her eyes again. Finally he did.

"I love you," she breathed.

His eyes widened a little; he was sincerely and profoundly touched, she could see it, and it made her want to cry and devour him all at the same time.

He brought his forehead to rest against hers and picked up his rhythm, never faltering. "Again," he urged.

"I love you. I love you, Doctor."

She touched his cheek and he pressed his hand over hers, nuzzling it as he had her calf, and then his rhythm changed: his expression grew intense and he began to thrust unpredictably, drawing out almost all the way and then waiting for a span of some seconds, driving back in again when he sensed she least expected it. 

On the seventh thrust he whimpered softly as though to say he almost couldn't take it anymore, and the sound overwhelmed the last of her control and she shuddered, crying out, and grabbed his buttocks, pushing herself hard against him. 

He began to babble then, a stream of words of encouragement, talking her through her orgasm, and finally murmuring a tide against her ear of, "I love you, I love you Rose Tyler, only you, always you...you belong to me...."

The last of her shudders eased away and she clutched at him, holding him close and stroking her hands over his back. "I do, of course I do, Doctor."

He surprised her once again by backing away from her and quickly coaxing her onto all fours, thrusting into her from behind with hardly a moment's hesitation, pulling on her hips so that she slammed against him. She moaned and rocked back, surprised at how good it felt when she'd thought she was already sated and that it couldn't possibly get any better.

He was quiet again except for his breath, which began to come more and more raggedly. He found just the right angle for both of them and stroked her into another orgasm right before he found his own, not bothering to pull out of her when he came. She felt herself grow slippery with their combined fluids and a few moments later he slid out of her and collapsed, drawing her down into the sheets with him, wrapping the duvet around them like a cocoon.

He'd never asked her about birth control, and Rose understood without questioning him that he would have, if it had been important. That meant it wasn't possible for them to reproduce. She stored that information away to ponder later, not bothered by it but simply filing it away as another fact about the Doctor. Not compatible. Check.

He nuzzled into her neck, kissing her softly, and began stroking her sweaty hair back from her forehead. 

Rose wiggled back against him, fitting her body against his easily. She made a sound of pleasure deep in her throat, prompting him to ask, "Good?"

"Mmm hmmm," she said, sliding her arm over the one holding her tightly. "Perfect. You?"

"Fantastic," he said, sounding so much for a moment like his former self--without the northern accent--that Rose fought a bout of giggles.

They were silent for a long while, and then his whisper floated through the darkness with an imperative question. "Did you mean it?"

She rolled over in his arms. She couldn't see him, but she touched his face, felt every familiar curve, felt a little smile form on his lips. "You're crazy. I meant it the moment I met you."

A little sound escaped through his nose, an almost silent, delighted laugh. "I'm sorry I ambushed you. I've needed you for so long. To feel you...taste you...to touch you."

"Trust me, it's all right."

They both giggled at that. 

There was silence again for a while. Then it was Rose's turn to ask her question in the dark. 

"Can I stay with you?"

His hands soothed down her body, pressed her into him, and he kissed her lips gently, making need flare up in her all over again. 

The Doctor wanted to say a thousand things just then, apologize a million times for the pressure he'd put on her during this mission (during others, as well), but now didn't seem to be the time. He didn't want to weigh this moment down. All he could think to say to communicate how much he needed her was, "I'm counting on it, Rose Tyler." 

A pause.

Rose trailed her fingertips lightly over his arm and said suggestively, "You know, before I left, they gave me some pointers on my technique."

"Oh," he replied, his voice soft and enthusiastic, "I can't wait to see how you've improved." Then, in a slightly higher pitch, "....Care to demonstrate?"


End file.
